


DWD (demon with disabilities)

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Tease (Good Omens), Cerebral Palsy, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Meet-Cute, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale Fell worked hard to retire early, and finally he did it! He moves to a small town by the sea and expects to spend his time quietly. Alas there's that speed demon who drives his wheelchair like, well, a demon and flirts like a smitten fool. Not that Aziraphale intends to flirt back, but he does...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 80
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome. This is me and my ridiculous universe! This here is dedicated to Harold Bergman, a Jewish mischief who drove over the people with his wheelchair if they stood on his way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://images.app.goo.gl/VQR1omFE1mWR6uWn8
> 
> Crowley's wheelchair

Some people live and work to retire. Mr Aziraphale Fell was just such a man. He spent years collecting, restoring and selling antique books in order to retire early and lead a life of leisure. Not that Aziraphale hadn't been enjoying his work - quite on the contrary, he loved it, he did! However there was something sweet and for a while unattainable in being able to follow one's wishes and indulge in all the good things. Aziraphale was a connoisseur of the good things - books, wine, food, liberty only substantial capital could buy… So, having gathered substantial capital and a fine collection of books for a rainy day, Aziraphale retired to a lovely village by the sea, the name of which no one would really care about, but that was exactly why Aziraphale had chosen it. 

And there he sat, at a local pub with a pompous name, drinking very tolerable red - it was tolerable after quite a few glasses, once all the refined taste buds in Aziraphale's mouth went numb with despair. The retirement thing wasn't going so well after all… Oh no, oh no, it was. Aziraphale had a lot of good wine back at home, he just wanted to… watch people being… people. As every neurodivergent, queer and plain  _ different _ person in existence would have justified, the sight could have never been pretty, but Aziraphale was optimistic.

And as things stood, there was an obnoxious male person harassing a much younger woman. Aziraphale took a sip of his wine and stood up to intervene, because obviously no one else was going to. A properly steampunk, absolutely glorious wheelchair suddenly drove right into the male person. In the wheelchair there sat the mischievous emperor of the universe, or so he appeared, lean and handsome, with red hair, devilish grin and dark glasses.

"Hey, arsehole. Move away from my date, will you?" 

Behind the mischievous emperor of the universe appeared a very displeased old man.

"Move away, laddie. Real men have come!" The old man announced in a heavy Scottish accent. 

"Shadwell, you're ruining the vibe!" The emperor complained. "I intended to reduce the misogyny in the room and here you are!"

"I got your back, Tony. Kick his arse!"

"Kick my arse?" The male person chuckled. "You can't move your fucking legs, Crawley. You're a fucking cripple, a waste of time and…"

The old man punched the male person's stomach, which of course led to the person vomiting. "Careful there, laddie. That's ma boy. No one  _ ever _ says a mean thing about ma boy!"

Aziraphale finally got ahold of himself. He approached the vomiting man - grabbed him and very easily dragged him out and tossed him on the street. "Please, stay down, dear. If you move, I won't call the ambulance… Perhaps I shouldn't all the same…" 

And Aziraphale walked back inside. His ears were burning, and the emperor was watching him with a smirk. The emperor's guard wasn't so friendly.

"You're new. And strong too. Drinks on me! Tracy!" The emperor called. His old guard blushed. 

A red-haired woman appeared, the owner of the place presumably, comforted the young woman, winked at the old man and kissed the emperor's cheek.

"Tracy! Drinks for everyone, on me."

"Take it the business is going well," Tracy smiled. 

"As always." The emperor nodded and turned his attention to Aziraphale. "What would you like, oh mighty warrior from afar?" The emperor half-smiled, seductive and apparently absolutely oblivious about it. 

"Aziraphale," replied Aziraphale.

"Sounds like a good drink!" The emperor took off his glasses revealing golden eyes with bilateral coloboma. "The name is Crowley, and you're lovely. May I join you?"

The emperor was flirting with Aziraphale in front of the entire pub. He sat upon his demonic vehicle, dressed in black, with that grin, with that fearsome old man on his shoulder and the woman he had just helped confident and smiling behind him.

Aziraphale did the only reasonable thing - he fled.

***

Aziraphale quickly learned that the emperor's name was Anthony Crowley. He had cerebral palsy, he owned the best flower shop in Britain, he had Thomas Shadwell, his caregiver since he was five, at his side at all times. 

And that emperor, Crowley, the first of his name, lord and protector of all things different and green, drove out of his bedroom the day after the altercation at the pub and announced:

"That… that man. Angel. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Want him."

"Just some fancy pansy!" Shadwell growled. 

"Precisely! As a pansy of a lower level of fanciness, I want to make his acquaintance. Let's go, Shadwell."


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale was at the same pub. People stared. Bad wine remained bad after an entire bottle of it. 

Tracy sat in front of Aziraphale.

"Well, hello. You're Aziraphale Fell, you own that lonely cottage down the road. I'm Tracy."

Aziraphale wanted to say that she was far too talkative. He wanted to say that the wine was just a step away from being horse piss. Instead he said. 

"The emperor… who is he?"

He had known, alright, but why not hear it once again?

"You mean Crowley? Oh, darling boy! Dear Mr Shadwell had been taking care of him since he was five… Very protective of him. Be careful."

"I didn't ask about his caregiver. I asked about the emperor… About… Crowley."

"I'm just warning you, dearie. Anyone flirting with  _ the emperor _ is called names. Wicked names. Mr Shadwell is such a naughty man…" Tracy giggled.

Aziraphale realised he had been calling Crowley  _ the emperor.  _

Strange thing, loneliness. You barely get used to being weird with yourself, and before you know it, you're weird with everyone else. Aziraphale had always been weird, but there must have been a limit, there must have been…

The doors flew open, his majesty the emperor drove into the pub. 

"Shadwell, I swear, if you use my private life as a reason to flirt, I will…" Crowley went silent, and Shadwell went crimson. "Brain cities, whales! Not to mention those orchids that trap a bee inside, smother them with their pollen which then is used to court the female! I so need a good bee!"

Crowley drove over to the counter. His wheelchair suddenly rose with a wheezing sound. Before long he was perched upon a bar stool, which still remained a masterpiece of steampunk.

"Scotch, please," Crowley ordered. 

"Yay, me too," Shadwell grumped.

Crowley took his drink and drove over to Aziraphale. 

"Hello, oh ye handsome knight from afar. I take it your name is Aziraphale. I'm Crowley. Do you think you could let me piggy ride you into the mountains?"

"He's too soft, laddie!" Shadwell appeared behind Crowley. 

"Oi, shut it. Go and flirt with Tracy like a decent gentleman!" 

Shadwell went scarlet but obeyed.

"So…" Crowley conspiratorially leaned on the table. "You're new. They say you like books. I could like books too, you know." Crowley suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

Oh, he was ridiculous, and he was glorious.

"That's the worst pick up line ever, dear boy," Aziraphale said, giggling. 

"Well, perhaps. Is it working though?"

"I don't know… Who are you exactly?"

"I'm Crowley. I grow things. All things. Mostly green. Flowery. Known to be a bloody nuisance around the people I like…"

Like an apparition, Shadwell stepped out of the shadows and put a protective hand on Crowley's shoulder. "Who's been bad-mouthing ma boy?!" He growled.

"It was me, Shadwell, I was bad-mouthing myself," Crowley said, both fond and annoyed.

"You shouldn't be, laddie. Your arse is skinny, but your spirit is fierce!" Shadwell disappeared again.

"Hopeless man…" Crowley muttered. "But enough about me… What about you, angel?"

Oh, he was shameless, awkward and utterly ridiculous… And breathtakingly beautiful.

"You're utterly ridiculous, my dear boy. Flirting with me like that… Who would flirt with me?"

"I would!" Crowley downed his drink. "What's wrong with flirting with you?"

"I'm… old. Soft."

"Yeah, and?" Crowley even took his sunglasses off. 

Aziraphale did the only reasonable thing - he fled.

Shadwell found Crowley staring at Aziraphale's chair, puzzled.

"That pansy couldn't handle ya, laddie. Want me to beat some sense into him?"

"Go ask Tracy out," Crowley commanded automatically. Shadwell huffed and walked away. He didn't ask Tracy out, but he glared at her through the rest of the evening, which was frankly just the same, when it came to Shadwell at least.

***

Aziraphale cursed himself, blessed himself and walked into the best flower shop in Britain. 

There was a skylight made of orange and deep blue glass, and under that skylight, dressed in sun rays, holding a glass of champagne (at ten in the morning!) and dancing to Shostakovich's Foxtrot was Crowley.

"Laddie, I could get you some real alcohol," Shadwell growled from somewhere behind the luscious greenery. 

"That's all I need…" Crowley replied. 

He twirled and turned there, under the sun, under the skylight, black metal and fancy design of his wheelchair, and the red of his hair, and the abandoned feeling he danced with…

The most defiant, the most important, the most inspiring, the most insistent music ever followed him hungrily, just as Aziraphale's eyes followed him, blue, black, red, orange. Oh, the fucking emperor of the fucking universe…

"And have you noticed… how any light falling on him gives him a halo?"

"Just a pansy, laddie. Worthless… you're being mad about him, and he's nowhere to be seen…"

"I'm entirely reasonable about him! I'm properly gone on him… They say… they say he…"

Shostakovich carried on regardless, and Crowley kept twirling there.

"You, all of you, you lazy green buggers! You, having crawled out of the oceans, you having developed roots and shit, you listen to me! GROW BETTER!"

Aziraphale felt he was going mad, but the plants, the entire fabulous sea of them, swayed and straightened up and let out the most intoxicating smell ever.

"Yes, just like that, you silly buggers! Be great, be glorious! Shostakovich is here for you and so I am, drunk on the finest champagne at ten in the morning! Come on! Grow, bloom!!! Bloom like there's no Joyce! Do it!!"

Crowley twirled a couple more times and noticed Aziraphale.

"Holy root and stem, what are… Welcome. What can I do for you?"

***

Aziraphale had been planning it. Aziraphale had been thinking about it. 

Aziraphale actually knew exactly nothing about it. 

When Aziraphale had been planning his retirement he didn't think of impossibly alluring gardeners, or of heavy smells of exotic flowers, or of coloured glass, or of Shostakovich persisting through the years of governments and changes… He planned for a casual shag, perhaps. He planned for some… one night stands. Aziraphale had never had anything more significant, because most of the time he had been thinking about the money, about his retirement… Those people he kind of dated, they had no interest in books, they chided Aziraphale for his desserts, they didn't want to see Aziraphale again, and it was all fine… However that demonic emperor, that dancer, that spirit of Shostakovich and orchids, he was real, he was more real than anyone else. No, he was truly, actually real.

***

And as for Crowley, he believed in revolutions, at least scientific… Actually, scientific alone. So what had happened when Aziraphale strode into the fight was a scientific revolution. Crowley discovered quantum mechanics that moment. Aziraphale's royally unassuming presence, his gentle eyes and beautiful face, his countenance, his gait - it all made sense like nothing had ever made sense. A lot of things suddenly became comprehensible and gained a solid explanation, and since Crowley believed in scientific revolutions, he accepted his discovery wholeheartedly and without a shadow of a doubt. 

***

There they were staring at each other. Foxtrot ended and Shadwell turned the following piano concerto n°1 off. Sadly, Shostakovich, being used to such treatment, didn't pay it much attention.

"I… am sorry?" Aziraphale offered as Crowley muttered his apology. Shadwell glared at them.

"Whatever for?" Crowley and Aziraphale asked each other simultaneously.

"For running away" and "For freaking you out" got mushed in the air, being again uttered at the same time.

"This is going nowhere," Crowley and Aziraphale said together. 

"You go first," they offered each other. It was getting far too adorably awkward, so they took a pause, and then spoke together again. 

"Ma boy speaks first," Shadwell intervened. Grumpily.

"Of course" and "No way" followed/disobeyed Shadwell's order in the same catastrophic manner that order had been intended to avoid.

"The weather is quite nice, isn't it?" Aziraphale said after a few seconds of careful mutual staring. 

"It is, rather. Terrific." Crowley agreed and grinned as if he had accomplished something extraordinary, which in fact he did, judging by Shadwell's approving… hm… sound and Aziraphale's beaming smile. "Fancy a walk? We could talk about books!" Crowley pushed his luck harder. He wasn't a patient man, he had never managed to be patient which incidentally, was the reason his previous caregiver was thrown out of the house by Crowley's furious mothers when the woman complained that Crowley moved too much and she hadn't been expecting that from a child  _ of such limited mobility. _ Shadwell, then much younger and a little less grumpy, climbed the trees with Crowley on his back, climbed the mountains the same way and took every spot of nature with limited accessibility as a personal insult. Oh look, we diverged. Crowley should tell everything, shouldn't he?

"Yes, I'd… like a walk, yes. But… the shop!" 

"The shop is alright, it knows better than being any less," Crowley said somewhat confusingly.

"I'll watch it, laddie," Shadwell acquiesced. "But watch your hands, you pansy!" He pointed at Aziraphale.

"Shadwell, this is impolite!"

"Watch your hands, you pansy, please."

"Hopeless. So sorry." Crowley moved closer to Aziraphale. "Shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale was used to walking lazily. Crowley tried to oblige, but it didn't mean he was any less demonic: he drove at Aziraphale's pace, alright, but his chair swayed and sauntered, he drove over quite a few feet, and the owner of each pair apologised most profusely.

After several occasions/accidents Aziraphale decided to softly warn Crowley. 

"Watch out for that pedestrian, dear boy."

"He's on my way, he should know the risks he's taking!"

Aziraphale decided that it sounded rather reasonable, but he wouldn't admit to it. Everything involving consideration seemed quite out of his reach, as he walked by the red-haired man, all nonchalance and cheeky grins.

"Sorry about Shadwell… He's been with me since I was a kid, and he's a bit.. overbearing."

"I can see that. He only wants your safety, after all, and I bet I can be very dangerous." Aziraphale giggled. He could flirt stupidly just like everybody else, and he was proud of his achievement.

"Oh, can you, now?" Crowley purred. "So can I."

"You've demonstrated it most convincingly, dear boy."

"I hope you're impressed."

"So all those feet are meant to be courting trophies?" Aziraphale asked cheekily.

"If you're into feet, then yes." Crowley replied immediately. "There's a nice chippie by the haven. How about we grab… early lunch?" Crowley offered, having checked the time on his super modern watch that made it difficult to actually tell the time, but appeared to be reliable about the weather in Bora Bora. 

Aziraphale clearly remembered that he didn't like fish and chips, but something pulled him in to follow Crowley into the domain of stale oil and fried food. It all seemed like a fairy tale, after all, and he followed Crowley like some enchanted prince. 

And then Crowley was saying:

"Can you please fancy-fry some cod for my… company? Maybe just steamed potatoes… For me. Your family discount is doubled, by the way."

The woman behind the counter rolled her eyes, but smiled and nodded all the same.

"And make it extra greasy for me!" Crowley demanded.

"Sure, luv! Where is your fierce guardian?"

"Let me have some time to myself for once. I mean… 37, ok? He's a dear fellow, I love him to bits, and if he wants to hold a candle over every kiss of mine… Actually, it's too much. He's my papa hen." Crowley smiled. 

Aziraphale watched him on his throne, the emperor of the universe, so young, so naughty, so hopelessly ridiculous and so ridiculously proud of it.

"Hey, angel, you'll have a good meal, swear!"

Aziraphale took their food, Crowley paid for it with a grin, and then they were in their way. Soon they approached the bay where a small haven hosted a few private yachts. Crowley drove to the parapet, grabbed its edge… Aziraphale suddenly could see that his shoulders were wider than his hips - some narrow, handsome hips they were… 

Crowley pushed himself up. The next thing Aziraphale knew Crowley was sitting on the parapet carelessly folding his endless legs, like a snake with dyspraxia taking care of its tail.

Aziraphale silently joined him. For a while they ate, then Crowley pointed to a secluded beach across the bay. 

"That place… always teased me. Still does. Shadwell and I went there once, only to discover that it's forbidden to go there, some danger or other."

Aziraphale swallowed a piece of very well prepared cod. "How come you went there?"

"Shut up, you ableist angel. Shadwell carried me on his back for years. We went anywhere I wanted. Top of the highest tree, some mountain top, a secluded spot… He still does it, you know? I mean, it's kinda dangerous, but I'm not telling him he's too old. He likes it. I like it. I rely on him… it's not that interesting, is it? What about you?"

"Oh… oh, nothing special about me, dear boy. Rabid Christian upbringing. Managed to make a name for myself, restored and resold old books. I only ever wanted to retire. To do… anything. To be lazy and indulging in my… sins."

"My kind of person," Crowley grinned. "And where is that smitten husband of yours, if I may be so bold?"

"Oh… never. Never had any. I'm, as you can see, very… soft."

"I can see that you're bloody gorgeous. That's what I see." Crowley shrugged.

"You're flattering me, my dear."

"Nah, never flattered anyone. Told a few teachers they were useless fuckers." Crowley shrugged again. "Never flattered anyone but myself." A cheeky grin, a crispy chip in his teeth. "I'm worth it, just like that shampoo!"

Aziraphale laughed out loud.

"You have a beautiful laugh, angel knight from afar," Crowley said seriously. "Hey, how about we try and sneak out to that beach? You'll have to carry me - or we'll have to take Shadwell with us… Whatever you choose." 

"Well, we could apparently also invite Tracy."

"Oh, angel, you're so hot and smug!" It was Crowley's turn to laugh out loud. He was joyous, perched on his legs, lean, with strong arms and shoulders… So beautiful, so unbearably beautiful.

"Is this… a date, dear boy?" 

"Oh, I hope it is. Is it?"

"I… I don't know."

"Do you like me?" Crowley asked, calm and straightforward. 

"I hardly know you…"

"So what? Science doesn't work like it. When you know, you know. It might take a lifetime to prove it, but then again… Proof is a peculiar bugger."

"Why are you so… careless?"

"Nothing to care about, angel. You do all you can to be happy. You hide and conform even… but in the end you cheat those idiots who claim to know better. No one knows better. At least not when you're different… I saw parents pulling their kids away from me on the playground. Shadwell glared them to early graves, I'm afraid. I saw people laugh at me. But I got into Cambridge - and refused it, because I could. Nothing stands on my way, angel. I won't let anyone stand there."

"A proper demon, aren't you?"

"No, angel. I had the luxury of loving parents and a caregiver who'd kill for me. The things one can do when one has such people standing by one's side!"

"Never… never had any… anyone like that."

"How about I fix that for you, angel?"


	4. Chapter 4

Every day at five o'clock Crowley would call Aziraphale and invite him somewhere. Every Friday Crowley cooked a wicked meal for Aziraphale and just delivered it to Aziraphale's door, no obligations, no pressure. Every Saturday morning Crowley would appear at Aziraphale's door with breakfast and flowers. Every Sunday evening Crowley would invite Aziraphale over to watch something which usually was an old opera recording, or some old rock concert, or some old movie. Crowley always preferred the funny ones. Aziraphale always preferred to snuggle close to Crowley and ignore Shadwell's grumpy remarks and insults. Crowley would always send him away to court Tracy. 

Aziraphale kept his hands to himself. Oh, he wanted to run his fingers through Crowley's hair or grab his arm, or hold him closer… But he didn't want to impose. The emperor was generous and kind, the emperor was welcoming him into the community, the emperor would never want to court him…

Meanwhile  _ the emperor _ clenched his teeth and convinced himself that he had to be patient, had to wait, however inviting that soft arse was… Even before his hopeless eyes landed on that arse, they noticed Aziraphale's little smiles, the sweet crow's feet around Aziraphale's eyes, the way he beamed when presented with something - even something small and insignificant. Just to be clear, for Crowley, a seven-course meal was small and insignificant. He'd bring Aziraphale the moon. And the sun. The stars. Actually, absolutely anything Aziraphale might desire.

They would go to the pub and sit there, laughing at Shadwell's attempts to be both fearsome and tender. 

They would walk to the sea at night. Crowley would tell Aziraphale about the stars, the mountains and actually bloody anything his eternally hungry eyes landed on. 

Aziraphale would go home and only think of the yellow eyes under the dark eyebrows, and the copper red hair, and the long fingers, and the wicked smiles.

The sweetest part was that he was given his time to doubt and fret and overthink. Crowley didn't mind. Crowley was there the next day regardless, the beautiful emperor on his movable throne, there to lay siege to Aziraphale's impenetrable fortress, patient, wise, full of mischief.

"My dear, what is it you want?" Aziraphale asked once.

"I want you to have what I have in abundance - love, protection, acceptance. You take as much as you need."

***

Some evenings Aziraphale felt calmer and braver, and during such evenings he stayed at Crowley's for longer. 

They would sit on the sofa, Aziraphale tucked under Crowley's arm, their heads so close that sometimes Crowley's red hair got messed up with Aziraphale's white. 

"You feel good, so close," Crowley remarked the first time it happened. 

"You always feel good, my dear," Aziraphale heard himself replying, and with a sigh, no less. 

Crowley laughed quietly, and they didn't resume the conversation. Instead, Aziraphale was reading, while Crowley was drawing flowers with meticulous detail and an occasional botanical fact, to which Aziraphale answered - if at all - with a hum and a nod and  _ indeed, dear boy?  _ and a careful tug on Crowley's hand.

And some days Aziraphale returned to his place, which lacked Crowley, and tried to convince himself to be more… no. Less. Less needy. Clingy. He couldn't just set himself next to Crowley and stay there like a stubborn olive tree.

On one such occasion Aziraphale finally snapped and cursed and returned to Crowley's. 

"You… made yourself irreplaceable! Now… you'll have to deal with it," Aziraphale finished speaking and made an honest effort to catch his breath.

"Ehm… be my guest?" Crowley suggested. "Wanna a hug? Or a talk?" He was smirking, that wicked, mischievous, beautiful smirk of his. 

"Definitely no talking. You'll have to work harder for that!" Aziraphale managed his breath and stared at Crowley, messed hair and pyjamas. 

"Sit in my lap then," Crowley offered quietly. "We'll figure it all out as we go."

"I'm too heavy."

"No, you're an idiot, that's what you are. Come here and sit in my lap."

Aziraphale felt defeated, and Crowley looked fantastic. "Alright. Happy now?" Aziraphale gingerly sat down. Crowley's knees were bony, but they were Crowley's, and Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale with fond determination. 

His arm crawled around Aziraphale's waist - and then they were driving through Crowley's house at mad speed. 

"Crowley… Crowley, you can't drive like that in your house!"

"Of course I can, it's my house!" Crowley argued. He slowed down all the same. "There, angel. Safe and sound."

"I'm staying in your lap." Aziraphale held Crowley and hid his face in Crowley's neck. "There's nothing I can say to make you reconsider, right?"

"Got me there, angel." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's forehead. 

"So… we can… proceed?"

"Just dating or straight to marriage?"

"You're incorrigible, dear boy." Aziraphale lifted his head to look at that mad naughty sun of his. "Wouldn't change a thing about you."

"Not even Shadwell?"

"No, not even Shadwell. Where is he?" Aziraphale looked around the room.

"He's off trying to court Tracy."

"Oh dear…" Aziraphale returned his head back on Crowley's shoulder. 

"Hope you like it there, angel." Crowley's fingers sweetly danced over Aziraphale's back and hair. 

"It's… safe in here."

"Ngk," Crowley replied, his arms tight around Aziraphale and his breath tickling Aziraphale's skin.

"Definitely, darling…"

Crowley huffed in response. They stayed like that till midnight.

From then on they tended to stay like that till midnight, although Crowley had nothing against Aziraphale staying the night. 

"No, that would definitely be marriage," Aziraphale said and left. 

When he was getting for bed back at his so called place, but could aspire to be so only if Crowley had been there, Aziraphale realised he didn't mind terribly… 

Oh, he had to make his house accessible. Fuck. 

All those… 

And he had never…

Aziraphale didn't sleep much. 

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tender smut

"Since the moment I saw you, I knew it'd be like that," Crowley whispered, hitching up the hem of Aziraphale's white undershirt. "Knew you wouldn't let me see you at first… it's alright."

"Your chair is a sex machine," Aziraphale teased, but there were tears in his voice as he straddled Crowley's slender hips and sunk slowly on Crowley's cock. 

"Hoped so," Crowley breathed out.

It was dark in the room, but Crowley's eyes were glowing. He had some mercy on Aziraphale and closed them. 

There was a clean towel underneath Crowley's arse, there was some lovely oil at hand. Aziraphale had come prepared, however. 

"So… you got ready?" Crowley kept his eyes closed as he touched Aziraphale's face.

"Didn't want to waste any time," Aziraphale pushed up and sunk down again.

"Think my fingers are not good enough for you? And it's me who's moving too fast?" Crowley's hands returned to Aziraphale's hips. He lifted Aziraphale effortlessly and pulled him down just so, just so Aziraphale moaned and moved with Crowley. 

"I… I… you…" 

"I love that your words fail you now…" Crowley grasped tighter. His hips might have been weak, but fuck, his arms made up for it, as he pulled and pushed Aziraphale as he saw fit. "My beautiful angel… Yes, yes, like that, baby, you're perfect."

Crowley was naked, shameless and the most precious and important thing in the universe, and Aziraphale was the one to ride him.

"Speaking… of perfect… Fuck, Crowley,  _ you  _ are perfect. Like that, like that, fuck me, fuck me harder."

Crowley moved his hands to the armrests of his chair, so that he could move faster and harder. Aziraphale's hands clasped on the back of Crowley's neck. 

"Good… you're so good…" 

"If I'm so good, then… if you want… lose your shirt."

Aziraphale was too far gone to care for his belly or his softness, so he pulled his shirt off and tossed it somewhere. Crowley's hands were there immediately, fondling and grabbing and caressing.

"Angel… my angel… beautiful."

"Your eyes are closed," Aziraphale remarked, although his sassiness seemed fake even to himself. 

"Would you bear them open?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale was hit with the intensity of Crowley's gaze. 

"Darling… no one… no one has ever looked at me like that…"

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hips again. "Idiots. You're mine now… for now. Mine…" His lips ghosted over Aziraphale's collarbones and nipples, his fingers dug into Aziraphale's hips. 

"You mean… we could have been doing this…" 

"Yes. Ever since we met," Crowley replied earnestly. "Kiss me, my love, my angel, kiss me."

Aziraphale pushed inside Crowley's mouth, soft and sweet. 

"There you go," Crowley encouraged into Aziraphale's broken breaths. "There you go. Take what you need, baby. Take it, it's there, it's yours."

Aziraphale couldn't move properly, but Crowley's hands guided him, Crowley's hips moved gently and confident.

"Don't want to finish," Aziraphale whispered into Crowley's neck. 

"It's alright, angel. There will be more. You take what's yours, and I'll be sure to take… what you'll let me to."

Crowley's hands were on Aziraphale's face again, his lips on Aziraphale's.

***

Instead of being weakened by his orgasm, Aziraphale felt powerful and strong, so he carried Crowley over to the bed. He made sure Crowley was comfortable on his stomach, scooted down, pulled Crowley's arsecheeks apart and kissed him there.

"Want you open…" he breathed. "Want you pliant."

Crowley was just begging and whimpering. Aziraphale held his hands to assure his lover of his presence and fucking feasted on that flattering hole. His fingers joined, two, three, four, five, until Crowley was wheezing with pleasure. Then Aziraphale turned them over, holding Crowley upright. 

"You have strong arms, my dear. Ride." 

Crowley grinned in the darkness.

He pushed into Aziraphale's chest to get some leverage - and take some breath away from Aziraphale at the same time. 

"I'm greedy, darling," Aziraphale threatened. He pushed two fingers inside Crowley, alongside his own cock. Crowley wailed above him, so strong, so free, so beautiful. "Your turn to take what's yours… go wild!"

Aziraphale briefly regretted his words because Crowley rode him  _ hard _ , pressing into Aziraphale's chest and thinking nothing of Aziraphale's breath. 

Aziraphale didn't care. 

Aziraphale tolerated it for a while, until he came inside Crowley. Then he pushed him down into the bedding - and ate him whole. 

He lapped and sucked at his cock, he nipped and bit into Crowley's hole, sucking here and there…

Aziraphale had always prided himself about his memory but he couldn't remember much about that night. He could only remember that he was pulled into Crowley's chest, cradled in those arms and whispered sweet nothings to. 

"You should have asked an actual disabled person about your… rearrangements, angel. But I appreciate the effort."

Crowley's shoulder was under Aziraphale's ear, and Crowley's breath was over Aziraphale's hair, and the notion of space was invented to place Aziraphale somewhere near Crowley. 

Oh, how perfect it was! How sweet…

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to the eagle-eyed readers who spotted a quote from Quixote.  
> Concrit is welcome. Feedback is very welcome. Kudos are welcome. Everything is welcome. And everyone, of course.


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